Yours, Haymitch
by brainyisthenewsxy
Summary: Before entering the arena, a young tribute leaves underneath his bed a roll of napkins in which he tells his life.


To whomever might me reading this,

I assume you are a District 12 tribute and for some coincidence or fate, or whatever you choose to call it, you have found this note underneath the bed. This note is my legacy; the only thing that will be left of me after the games. You might think I am being extremely pessimistic, but fighting against other 47 opponents in this Quarter Quell isn't exactly in mi favor. So, as I'm almost certain that I will be dead by the next month, I've decided to write here a story. This is the story of my life. Heck, maybe you aren't even interested in it, or this note got lost somewhere underneath the expensive bed that was given to me at the Capitol but I just need to write this down in the hopes that someone somewhere might read it.

Ok, let me begin by introducing myself. My name is Haymitch Abernathy and I am 16 years old. I was born in District 12, but I don't remember my parents' names. They both died under strange circumstances when I was just a baby and I was adopted by some of my mother's friends who took care of me until I was 12 years old. I don't remember much of my childhood; just that I grew up in an abusive home where my "father" would come home drunk and beat me up for no reason at all. I despised that man with all my heart, but I never gathered the courage to kill him. Thus, I spent the first years of my life being physically and emotionally abused by the man I called my father. They never told me I was adopted so I believed they were my real parents. But living with them actually gave me something positive: I made a promise to myself that I intend to keep until my last day on earth. I will never ever drink. I can only imagine the terrible pain he must've suffered to recur to drinking as his way out, but I swear there is nothing that will make me do that.

Anyway, as I was telling you, I was abused at my own home. But that was not all. Kids in my school bullied me and I was the outcast. I only had one friend. Her name was Nina. She was the only person in the world that I could trust and we loved each other. Not like in a cheesy, romantic way, she was my best friend and the only person I truly cared about.

This all changed when we both turned 12 and our first reaping came. The odds weren't exactly against us, since our names were only placed there once. They weren't in our favor either, since Nina got reaped to become a tribute. I felt the tears swelling up in my eyes and prayed to some God I didn't even believe in to let me get reaped as well so I could protect her. I wasn't (some 15 year old guy named Eugene was reaped instead), but I hadn't played all my cards yet. Just when I was about to scream that I volunteered myself, a pair of strong hands grabbed me, covered my mouth with some sort of cloth that smell funny and made me fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was too late. I was being taken somewhere in some sort of train, away from Nina. I would never see her again. A tall, fat man was sitting next to me. I tried to walk away and find my way out but something stopped me. I took a deep breath, which woke up the man next to me. I asked him what was going on, why didn't he let me volunteer to save my friend, my only friend; I demanded him to take me back home.

He smiled patronizingly before answering my questions. Apparently, the people I thought were my parents weren't actually my biological parents. The real ones had been killed by some Peacekeepers who suspected they were creating an uncover revolution to bring down the President, but they didn't kill me for some reason. They just handed me over to the neighbors and told them to take care of me. This man was my father's half-brother and worked with the government, in the Capitol. That's where he was taking me. As soon as he found out that I was still alive, he travelled to District 12 to take me to the Capitol and protect me. I was going to live with him.

I couldn't say no, since this man was actually offering me a life that seemed way more tempting that the one I had lead before. But I couldn't exactly say yes either, since Nina, my Nina was about to enter an arena to face other 23 bloodthirsty tributes. My uncle whose name I can't quite recall promised that she would be fine.

I didn't know he was lying until a few weeks later, when, in my new comfy room in a modern building in the Capitol I saw Nina being viciously stabbed by a Career tribute on live TV. She was the 16th tribute to die in those Hunger Games. I felt like my heart was being split through the middle. I felt like I was being the one being stabbed to death; the only difference being that no one actually saw my pain. Only my uncle did, and he told me that I would eventually get through it. He said I didn't have to feel the pain, so I didn't.

I was absolutely numb for months, until I met Effie Trinket. The first time I saw her, I felt inexplicably drawn to her aqua hair and her bright pink eyelashes. She wore the typical Capitol garment, but didn't look like the others. She was different. She live next to our flat and after some time where the only interaction we had was exchanging glances; I had the courage to talk to her.

I was right about her, or at least I thought I was. She was different from all the other Capitol citizens. The way she talked, the way she thought; it almost appeared to me that she was going to create a revolution herself. We had a connection and I could tell her everything. She gave me my first kiss and I could honestly say that she was my first love.

But then, she changed. She started growing and turning into a woman; our talks became trivial to her. She began using more and more makeup and wigs, looking more obnoxious and more like the _others_ every time I saw her. I began getting sick of her. Was she becoming something she was not, or was now beginning to show her true colors? I didn't have time to find out. When my uncle died from some mysterious berry-related poisoning, I was forced to return to Distrcit 12.

In a way, I was kind of relieved, since I would never have to see Effie again, but I didn't want to participate in any more reapings. I had been away for 3 years and was coming back exactly to match the 50th annual Hunger Games' reaping: a Quarter Quell. President Snow announced through the conveniently placed screens on the plaza that the special thing about this year would be that twice the tributes would be reaped from each District. I had just arrived when I got the news. The next day was the reaping. I got chosen, along with another three tributes.

I think it's pretty obvious from there. I was interviewed, got to taste the wonderful food from the Capitol, got trained in survival skills, etc. Pretty much what you've been through in the past week. Tomorrow I will be sent to the arena, where my only weapon will be my mind. I hope I don't die, but I'm almost certain I will. The odds have never been in my favor.

Anyway, this is my story (extremely abridged because of the lack of time and napkins on which to write) and I hope you got to the end. If you did, I want to thank you. I just wanted someone to know what I've been through; I want to leave my legacy and this is my way of doing it.

I hope the odds are in your favor,

Yours truly,

Haymitch


End file.
